


Bingo

by Madame_Klancealot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Boys Being Boys, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, Mutual Pining, One-Sided Attraction, Online Friendship, Online Romance, POV First Person, Pining, Residency, eventual mutual pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25933861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Klancealot/pseuds/Madame_Klancealot
Summary: Keith has to do his two week residency/placement which he is NOT looking forward to. And what do you know, it all goes downhill from there when he finds out he won't be at the residency alone. No. But together with the one person he never wants to see himself alone with. Ever.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if you don't like first person povs. I feel like I write better when written in first person. This is one is about halfway finished. I hope to write more some time, but I'll post some of the chapters here for the fun of it. :)

**Keith**

As soon as the ignition dies, all I can think about in that second is to make a run for it. But the moment my hand catches the door handle I hear the locks clicking. Trapped. Dammit. 

I make a groan so loud and so aggravated, it has to make Shiro understand my pain. “Do I have to?” I say as my lips slide into an annoyed purse. 

Shiro stays quiet. Calm. I cast my gaze from my black Vans up to his steel gray eyes to see if he’s mad. He’s not mad -- thankfully -- but he’s not happy either. Whenever is he happy? 

I open my eyes wider and shake my head for him to say something and not look at me like some dumb kid. “Do I?” I press. 

My heart isn’t speeding or anything. Like, this isn’t a life or death situation. It’s just so, God’s. Damn. Annoying. I never asked to do this. But someone else asked. And I had to say yes. 

Finally, Shiro deadpans at me with a small, cheeky grin, his hand resting firmly on the wheel. He’s not letting me escape yet. I know there’s some sort of lecture in the making in that Dad Brain of his. And it’s not like I want to disappoint him, but he did it first. 

I roll my eyes at him, making a new tug at the handle for him to release me of my entrapment, but all he does is crack out into a small sigh. That reels in my attention. “Keith.” 

There it is: a sigh, my name, and then a new, long dragged out sigh as if I should already know the answer to my stupid question. I’m not asking for an answer. I’m asking to get out of this. Before I can say anything remotely crude back to him, he shoots in first. 

“According to your class, the paperwork I signed, and that they’re waiting for you, is answer enough that you have to do this!” 

I almost flinch at his tone, but I’m used to it. Not like he hasn’t used it up on me yet. There’s more energy where that came from. 

“Yeah, but..” I drag out my own sigh, knocking my hands on the dash. The radio’s playing Bohemian Rhapsody for the millionth time, but I never tire of Freddie Mercury’s voice. I bob my head to the beat of the song, singing in my head as I’m lost in thought. But I plummet back once Shiro grabs the volume knob and switches the music off. Dead. “Why couldn’t I be at the station with you?” 

“We’ve discussed this already,” Shiro says in a tone of duress. “You’d be bored out of your mind. There’s hardly anything to do there for two weeks. I couldn’t promise you a fulfilling and educational environment.” 

I wave my hand at the building outside my window. “But an old folks home will?!” 

“Keith.” Shiro uses the known tone again, but I don’t flinch or show any indication of weakness to him. He smiles nonetheless. “It’s a retirement facility. I’ve heard great things. The people here are very nice, accustomed to teenagers -- they appreciate all the help they can get -- there are endless activities and you won’t be stuck with me for two whole weeks in a stuffy fire station with my co-workers.” 

He did have a point. “But it’s an old folks home.” I cringe. “There’ll be, like, old people there!” 

“Honestly, Keith, you’re 17, you need to act your age! You’ll be a senior next year and then you’ll be heading off to college. I can’t deal with this.” 

I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah, well, you’re almost 30! How about you act  _ your  _ age for once and stop being a prissy, strict-ass parent!” 

Shiro points a hard finger at me. “You’re so lucky Adam’s not here to whip your ass into shape.” 

“Adam’s  _ not  _ here!” I scream out. 

Before I can take it back, Shiro’s hardened features crumble when I mention that Adam’s not around anymore. I can see how his eyes go from that steel glow to murky and deflated. Dull. Hurt. “Shiro, I--” 

The locks click open. “Just go.” 

Once I open the door and lean against it to say I’m sorry, Shiro’s already decided to give me the silent treatment. “I’ll see you at home,” I say, and close the door. 

It wasn’t my fault I mentioned Adam was gone, Shiro started it. But it’s been over a year and he’s clearly not gone past it. My tongue feels dry with regret when I see the car drives off and around the curb. Regret doesn’t often take its hold on me, but I knew what I said was wrong. Although it was during a moment of stress and I can’t think properly when I’m stressed out. Specially if Shiro’s the one who feeds the fire in me. 

I shrug my red backpack over my right shoulder, turning around to face the building. It’s quite large in scale. To my perception, it’s not just the one building, but several. It’s freaking huge once I close in on it. The sign on the entrance says  _ Voltron Retirement Home _ ; there are large windows taking up most of the building’s design, and once the cool AC hits my face as I walk in, I’m met with a stylish -- very modern -- front desk. 

“Hello there, sweetie! I’ll be right with you,” A young, blonde woman says with a cheerful tone, gesturing for me to sit down on one of the comfy recliners that are lined against the wall close to her desk. “I just need to take this call.” She winks at me. 

Her attention fastens itself to the phone that was ringing once I stepped inside and grabs it with that same automatic cheerful tone. “Hello, VRH, how can I help you?” I hear her say as I slump down into a vacant recliner. 

My butt immediately sags into the soft pillow, and I’m in heaven. The blonde receptionist seems too deep into her convo on the phone so I grab my headphones around my neck and slide them up on my head, scrolling through my latest made Spotify list. 

Almost a minute passes during my current song -- a classic by Fallout Boy -- before I’m shocked back into the living when I feel a small hand tapping on my shoulder. My hand goes to pull down my headphones. “You’re one of the students from Garrison Highschool, right?” 

“Yeah. I’m Keith Kogane.” 

The woman claps her hands with a fast motion, quickly moving back to her side of the desk. I hear two sets of clacking, one from her long-ass heels and the other from her typing on the computer. “Let’s see. Kogane… Kogane… Ah, here you are. Now I’ll just need you to fill out this form, it’s just for precautionary measures, nothing vital or anything, but the usual policy of confidentiality and all that jazz.” 

I grab the form she hands me. “Right.” 

She flashes me her best welcome smile. “Just sit back down and once you finish you can put the form on the table. Then as soon as the other student arrives and fills out their form, I’ll get you both up to speed on things here.” 

My grip tightens around the form. “Hold on,” I say with one hand in the air. “I thought I was going to be here  _ alone _ .” Shiro never mentioned there were more than one student applying to this place. Heck, I thought it was one student per residency. What is this madness? 

“Well, Voltron’s actually a very popular place to take in highschool residents. This year’s record! I know most places commonly take in one student, but since we’re a large facility, the more help we can get, the better!” She switches on that smile again. “Besides, the older folks love it when there are youths around to socialize with, makes them feel young again.” 

“So, there is one more student coming?” I ask, ignoring her long explanation. “May I ask who?” 

In that moment, the sliding doors open up. I turn my head at the same time as Miss Blondie to see who it is. 

A boy rushes in, smiling and waving to the front desk. “Sorry I’m late.” 

And everything inside me freezes over. “Oh crap.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Keith**

  
  


How much bad luck does one person need to have to pair up on a residency with this guy? I thought I would run scot free for two whole weeks without having to see this dingus flash his stupid smile everywhere I walked at school. And now I have to be holed up at this place _with_ him. For two whole weeks. 

“Hello, sweetie!” The receptionist beams at the newcomer. “We’ve been waiting for you. Here, grab this form and fill it out, then I’ll give you two kids the rundown at this place.” She points two pink-sleaked fingers at me and my prison-mate. 

I’m almost out of the chair when she hands him the form. “Your name again, sweetheart?” 

“Oh,” he says with that dashing, stupid smile I wanted to avoid. “The name’s Lance. Lance McClain.” 

“Look at you going all Bond, James Bond, the folks here are gonna _love_ you.” 

It takes almost every single volt of energy inside of me to repress a groan. This guy. Why did it have to be _him_ of all people? 

Lance clicks his cheek at the receptionist, twirling smoothly on one foot and falls down into the chair beside mine. I reach for my headphones to deafen the fact that he’s within my vicinity and blast on more Fall Out Boy. 

While he’s filling out the form, I can’t help but look at him. My eyes do a onceover -- on their own, I have no control over them -- and take in his outfit. Dude doesn’t dress like he’s made of money, don’t think he’s that rich either. Come to think of it, I think his family is quite middle class like mine. Not that that matters or anything. He’s wearing a cool, light jacket, tight jeans and a hoodie that matches the color of his stupid blue eyes. I flick my gaze away not to keep staring at his stupid hoodie. 

Still holding down that groan, I make out a small sigh instead. Patrick Stump’s voice luckily surges in some of that needed serotonin to help me get through this first day. Lance keeps scribbling down the information needed before we can get started. I still hold my eyes pinned to the clean floor in front of me. 

“I love Fall Out Boy!” I suddenly hear almost louder than the music in my ears. 

On instinct my hands fly to my headphones, dragging them back down to my neck. I stare curiously at the sunshine boy next to me. Did he just say what I thought he said? Impossible. Lance McClain loves modern music. He’s supposed to love what’s popular this week. His list should only consist of music from the global top 50, or whatever. 

Yet alas, he’s singing to the song that’s playing from my phone. “Y-you like Fall Out Boy? You?” 

“Yes?” Lance shoots a thin brow up, giving me an incredulous look. “What, I’m not allowed to like them or anything? It’s a free country, Keith.” 

“You know who I am?” I flatline. Lance McClain is not supposed to know who I am. I repeat, the most popular boy at school is not supposed to know who. I. Am. 

Lance’s other brow shoots up to meet with his brother, they sink back down while he smirks at me suddenly and I feel haunting chills riding down my spine. His hand smooths over the form, lifting his long, lithe frame up from the couch as he hands it back to Miss Blondie. “I know exactly who you are, Keith.”

_Exactly?_ Fine, it’s okay for him to say he knows who I am, but did he have to put the word exactly in front? Honestly, the word itself is enough to give me a seizure. I also slide up from the couch, turning my music off and find a spot next to Lance, but keeping my distance in the process. 

I don’t answer him. All I do is glower at him as if I think he’s lying or something. At the aforementioned: Lance McClain is the most popular guy at our school. He’s also a senior -- a year older than me -- and is captain of the swim team. 

Everyone loves Lance. I don’t. I pretty much despise him. Well, I just don’t want to give my two cents to him to say the least. At school I choose often to ignore him, but he’s like a bouncing ball. Wherever I am at school, there he is. If I want to hide out on the bleachers and write, there he is out on the green chatting it up with the rest of the popular crowd.

Allura Altea has been rumored to be his current girlfriend, but the word around the halls is that he’s denying it every time. Guess he doesn’t like to have all the attention. I call bullshit. 

“Oh goodie, so you two already know each other. Guess awkward introductions aren’t needed then,” Miss Blondie says with a blinding smile. “Then how about we get started?” She gestures for us to follow her, but before we even make it out of the front desk room she turns on her high heels, “You can call me Romelle, by the way. I’ve worked here for the past three years. I also would like to mention that our residents do not bite, but they tend to get very nosy, so just be careful what you wish to share with them.” She winks at us before turning back to lead the way. 

The tour goes along like walking on thin ice. I’m doing my best to ignore that Lance is here too, walking in step with me, casting those blue eyes at me from time to time like he almost wants to have a conversation with me. My expression remains ice cold, colder even whenever I catch Lance staring at me with a hopeful intention to talk to me. 

Romelle chatters away as she shows us where the residents’ rooms are, and that there are 85 residents in total who live here, but informs that residents from other retirement homes tend to visit on certain important activity days. She shows us the different activity rooms: the knitting room, the cafeteria or the common room where they have all their meals, the pool area -- where they play pool, mostly the men -- the other pool area, the swimming pool in other words and lastly, the bingo room. 

“Now bingo is a sacred ritual for all our residents here at Voltron. They take it very seriously, almost like it’s a sport for them,” says Romelle with a teasing look. “Bingo is twice a week. On Wednesdays and Fridays.” She points two fingers at Lance and I. “You two will take over as readers for bingo nights, isn’t that exciting!” 

“Very,” I say, forcing my eyeballs to stay focused on her. “So Lance takes Wednesdays, and me on Fridays?” 

Romelle quirks a corner of her lip. “No,” she says in a teasing manner. “The both of you will be readers on all bingo nights! Then I can write that down as your way of teamwork building once I do the assessments.” 

“Teamwork building?” I repeat with dread coating every tone of my voice. “You mean to say that this guy,” I point to Lance with my thumb, “and I are going to be working together.” 

“Well, you both are placed at the same residency, so yeah.” Romelle winks again and does a small shrug, and now I do a hard eye roll it almost hurts. 

All in all, I totally forget that Lance is standing right next to me and I sort of passively insulted him. But he shows no indication of being hurt or that he even remotely cares. All he does is send out a short chuckle, then grabbing my shoulder with his arm, pulling me close to him. 

“No worries, Ms Romelle. Keith and I will show you what a kickass team we can be, right Keith?” 

I’m almost blinded into a new dimension when those pearly whites shine under the fluorescent lights. I know I’m stuck with him for the next two weeks, and luckily it’s only from 8:00 am to 3:00 pm, but still, I was kind of hoping we’d stay on each end of the facility. Far, far away from each other. 

There’s nothing else to do but nod like someone is holding me at gunpoint and try not grind my teeth into dust. “Sure, teamwork…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Lance**

  
  


Mamá wanted to know everything about my first day at the residency the moment my foot hit the floor inside our house. She comes waltzing in with loving, open arms. “Mi hijo! How did it go? Were they nice to you?” 

“Yes, ma, of course they were.” I cringe when she pinches my cheek -- quite hard too -- and lands a big, wet kiss on it right after. I wipe away her mark and fall down onto the couch next to Rachel. “I like doing residencies,” I say, “I don’t have to do any studying or homework for two whole weeks. It’s really refreshing!” My hand snatches the remote from my sister. 

“Hey!” Rachel -- my twin sister -- yells and angles me into a chokehold to give up the remote. 

“You’ve had your tv time, it’s my turn!” I squeeze out through her chokehold. 

Girl doesn’t give up, she has the strength of a gorilla. “Ra...chel…” I say with desperate panting breaths as her grip around my neck tightens. I slap the couch twice to yield and throw the remote in her lap as I groan in irritation. Her grip slackens and I can live again, rubbing the sore spot around my throat. “Just you wait, one day when you’re not looking--” 

“I’m always looking, Lancey. You know you can never beat me,” Rachel counters with her tongue stuck out, flicking back to her shows. Diva. 

I stalk back to my room, falling onto my bed. I turn my head to my computer thinking about booting up my game, but then my phone starts vibrating. “Hey man.” 

“Lance! Wanna come check out this new movie showing?” Hunk says all chipper on his end. 

I roll around on my stomach, descending deeper into my soft mattress, looking like a dead person. I was way too beat after the residency. How isn’t Hunk even showing a sliver of used labor? “I dunno, man,” I sigh, so beat, “I’m still kind of tapped out after my first day at the home.” 

“You? Out of energy, after being at an old folks home?” 

“Come on! I had to clean, prep food, and talk with them. Old people  _ love _ to talk, Hunk, and you know how much I love to talk in return.” 

Hunk concedes with a hum. “You’re right. But don’t blow us off every day just because you’re too tired. The Lance McClain I know is never tired. See you at the swim meet on Thursday though?” 

“‘Course. I can’t miss those even though I’m out in residency.” I say with a sharp, amused breath from my nose. “And, like, it’s only for today I’m out of it. I just need my beauty sleep and then I’ll be good to go. We can hang out tomorrow, yeah?” 

“Sure thing, buddy. Talk to ya later.” 

“Later.” 

I hold out my phone and press the decline button. My reflection bounces back to me from the darkened mirror after I shut it off and all I can see is the shadowy contours of a liar. I let out a long breath. I love Hunk to pieces, we’ve been best friends since we were both in diapers. But ever since I hopped on this popularity train freshman year, I’ve been feeling like… like some kind of fraud. 

My computer roars to life when I push the start button and I drag the cursor to my current played game. It’s an online game I’ve been obsessed with lately, can sort of resemble World of Warcraft but it’s not that heavy on the technical stuff. In this game, I can go anywhere and chat up with other users, take on quests to gain experience points and build my own home. It might also resemble Animal Crossing, but more like in a high fantasy setting, with cooler, realistic graphics. 

It’s a simple game but it takes my mind off of real life for a couple of hours. Also, the other players on the game, they just get you. They understand the need for time on your own, to recharge, to have some space. 

One of my online friends pops on in the corner of my monitor -- Marmora03. We formed a guild together about a year ago and have been non-stop chatting ever since. We both know we can use Discord to chat with our voices, but chatting through typing was sort of decided on our own without ever knowing, and now that it’s gone over a year I guess we’re both accustomed to typing. Also, I don’t know how I’d feel if I ever heard Marmora’s voice for the first time. 

Marmora is a guy, that’s all I know, and that he’s a junior at the same high school I attend. I don’t try to find out who he is deliberately, but knowing he goes to my school and that he’s a year under me is kind of tickling my social bone. I really want to know who he is, but I also like the secrecy to this. 

To be honest, I’ve shared a few,  _ personal _ things with him, and if I ever met him in real life, I’d literally die. Go beet red, shrivel up, then die. 

For one, he knows I’m bisexual. No one at school knows, not even Mamá. Rachel is the only other person who knows, but we’re twins, we’re bound to the laws of our DNA not to rat the other out about our secrets. She accepted me right away, said I could love whatever, well, whoever, not whatever. If I ever fell in love with a cow, she’d tell mom. 

To be fair, cows produce milk which creates milkshakes. How could I not fall in love with a cow? 

**Marmora03 :** Hey man. 

**Sharpshooter02 :** Sup? 

**Marmora03 :** Nothing… exhausted from my first day of residency. 

**Sharpshooter02 :** Oh yeah? Me too. How’d it go? 

**Marmora03 :** As expected. I think I’ll live, but it’ll be a long two weeks. I also got into a fight with my brother…

**Sharpshooter02 :** Yikes. What did you do?

**Marmora03 :** Bold of you to assume it was my doing.

**Sharpshooter02 :** It wasn’t?

**Marmora03 :** No, it was… but he started it. 

**Sharpshooter02 :** Knew it

**Marmora03 :** Hush you! Nah, I said something I shouldn’t have said and now he’s giving me the silent treatment until I apologize or tell him I love him… that kind of crap. 

**Sharpshooter02 :** Yeah, but you do love him and you feel bad. I think you should march down or up or wherever your room is located and tell him that I said you had to say you’re sorry. 

**Mamora03 :** Jajajajajajaja -- You are a funny one mister Sharp. But yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks man. Play for a few hours later? 

**Sharpshooter02 :** You betcha, just @ me when you’re online. 

**Marmora03 :** Sweet 

“Sweet,” I say as I quickly scan over our short conversation. 

Marmora’s become an important figure in my life. Sure, we don’t know each other in real life, but if it weren’t for him, I’d never figure out I’m bisexual. He’s been there for the highs and lows. Which to admit it all in the end, the reason why I want to know who he is, might be because I’m in love with him. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Keith**

Day two at the home is a tad better than yesterday. Mostly due to the fact that Shiro and I made up and I got to take his car since he’s not at the station today. Which means I can drive around town when I finish. My keyboard yesterday had the audacity to break my W button which I need when I play. It hurt, watching as my finger pushed down on the button only for it to pop back up and spring to the floor… never to be reattached again. Lucky for me it was time for an upgrade anyways and after I apologized to Shiro he gave me money to splurge on a new one. 

“That’s new,” Lance says while we clean the pool. He’s holding a long net, sweeping away leaves and other gunk in the water. 

I’m holding a small, baby net, and I’m laid down by the side of the pool on my stomach attempting to catch the dead flies and other bugs that wanted to have a little swim. The water’s nice and cool in the hot air, I can see the reflection of the sun sparkle the water and it’s making me crave for a dip. I look up though, Lance’s skin looks even darker through my black shades. “What’s new?” I ask. He can’t see me glaring through my specks. 

“You smiled,” Lance says with a grin. 

I frown. 

“Well, not anymore.” Lance takes the net and fling water in my face. So refreshing but I don’t show him that. 

“The hell, man!” I shriek instead, flinging off my shades, to dry the drops from the hem of my t-shirt.

Lance is laughing, and he’s shirtless. He’s wearing beige shorts and flip flops, and dark blue aviators. Of course he looks good, he is the most popular kid at our freaking school. But did he have to go shirtless around me? Not that I’m looking. Not that I’m even noticing the drops of water mixed with sweat racing down his toned stomach. 

Shit. 

I blame it all on the hormones. Being 17 and a closeted gay does that to you, okay. I can agree, Lance is hot. But I don’t like him. Not even a single molecule of my body, of my organs, of what makes me,  _ me _ , will ever fall for him. 

Why? 

Just because. 

“You looked kinda hot,” says Lance with a wistful expression, “and I thought maybe some water would cool you down. It’s super hot today to be September.” 

I run my fingers through my long, black bangs, some drops of water bruising the patio. “Yeah, well, we do live in Arizona, it’s hot all year around!” 

Lance places the net back where he found it, grabbing my baby net and placing it next to the big one. He turns around wearing his grin. Not the smile everyone knows and loves him for, but the grin I feel like I can only see. Like he’s decided to only share it with me these next two weeks since we’re not at school right now. 

Usually he’s all smiles and giggles at school. Flirting with any girl walking on two legs. Hell, I’ve heard rumors he’s even flirted with a cow! He may seem charming and dashing and all that, but for some reason, I feel like he’s doing all but putting on an act. 

No one has all that in one package? There has to be some left over baggage he’s hiding. A few dusty skeletons in his closet. 

“Hey, Romelle said we needed to get the bingo room ready for tomorrow,” Lance chirps as he walks past me. He finds his t-shirt that he flung over a chair on the patio, throwing it over his head, and I’m not staring the entire time as the sun glistens and enhances his six-pack. Dammit. He’s captain of the swim team, all right, they all have six-packs! 

Not that it’s my weakness or anything. 

Totally is though.

We walk into the bingo room. It’s huge. Like larger than a ballroom for the queen of England. “She wasn’t lying when she said bingo was like a sacred ritual for these guys,” I say with amusement, Lance humming his agreement as he walks deeper into the large space. 

On one side of the room are stacks of chairs and on the other, tables. 

“Tables first, then chairs?” Lance suggests. 

Both my brows arch, I give him a dull look. “How else are we going to place the chairs?” I say with mild aggression. 

Lance brushes off my remark by waving his hand at me like a drama queen and starts unfolding the tables. “We should place them like this.” Lance places a table horizontal so it’s facing the stage. 

“No,” I say. “We should place them like this.” I take the table and swing it vertically so that the guests can face each other instead. 

Not happy, it’s the first frown I see on him. Lance takes the table to place it back to his liking. That doesn’t cut it out for me. I fume, ears boiling and grab the table. Before I can swing it, Lance hooks on to the other end of the table making it hard for me to budge it. “Lance, vertical is better!” 

“Nope, I say horizontal!” 

“Vertical!” 

“Hor...i...zontal…” Lance pushes out with brute force and the table flies to the floor along with me on its tail. 

I don’t get hurt, but I feel a shooting pain in the palms of my hands from my landing. “Oh shoot, Keith, you alright?” Lance is bent on his knees to help pull me up. 

My hand grabs on to his, and I hate to say it but its really warm. He’s like a furnace and the moment I let go I’m sweating. I dust my t-shirt. “Yeah, whatever. How the hell are we going to place the tables? We can’t argue like idiots.” 

“In my defence,” Lance starts, straightening his back and placing a hand on his chest like he’s going to give a speech on the debate team. “Facing the stage is far better for the residents to see what number and letter is being announced.” 

It was a plausible -- also convincing -- argument. But I never went down without a fight. I answer back mockingly, “In  _ my _ defence: There will be more room for everyone, since other residents from other homes will be coming and they can face each other to socialize amongst each other and not look at us the whole time.” 

Lance taps a finger to his chin, humming. “How about--” 

I groan and stomp away towards the remaining stacked tables. 

“Keith, hear me out at least!” Lance has a hand on my shoulder, but I brusquely shake it away. “Okay... Listen, we do it my way tomorrow, then we do it your way on Friday,  _ and then _ we’ll let the residents vote on how they like their tables the best?” Lance puts on a wide smile like a small child asking for permission. It’s like I can hear the ghost of a  _ pleaaaaase _ being said behind those pearly whites. 

Just like a child. I hate children, but Lance is an exception. I sigh, long and hard. “Fine. We’ll do it your way tomorrow.” I point a finger at him before he starts cheering, then realize something as I crook it in when I notice how similar to Shiro I’m acting. “But don’t get all pouty when I say I told you so,” I say at last in a low tone. 

Lance sticks his tongue out, looking pleased with my answer. “No worries there, mullet!” 

I’m suddenly taken aback, when I fold out a table leg. “Mullet?” I say, incredulous. “Do you even know what a mullet is?” 

“I do… they’re these old hairstyles from the 80s right? Didn’t David Bowie have one?” Lance points out, and I’m contemplating on acting offended that he compared my hair to the famous David Bowie. 

“You like… David Bowie?” I ask to change the subject of my hair. It’s not a mullet by the way. 

I hear a loud clap when Lance sends a table to the floor. He starts laughing maniacally. “Do I like David Bowie…” he mutters humorously, narrowing his blue eyes at me. “Do bees like honey? Do plants like water? Does my mamá love crappy, cringy telenovelas?” 

I scowl at him. “You could just say yes.” 

His upturned nose reaches the ceiling. Lance then crosses his arms, looking somewhat smug and haughty. “I do like David Bowie.” He strides over cooly to where he put his phone. “How about we listen to some while we finish up the room?” 

_ Heroes  _ riffs into his phone speaker, which is utter crap, but the song comes through and already I’m mouthing the lyrics. 

In no time, the room is finished just how Lance had envisioned it. It doesn’t hurt my eyes to see the tables facing where him and I will be sitting to shout out the numbers and letters, but I’m still steadfast on my way to be the right way. 

“ _ We can be heroes… forever and ever… _ ” I hear Lance sing along with Bowie and those haunting, subsequent chills are back on my spine. 

He has a nice voice when he sings, but I don’t tell him that. In fact, I turn to hide my small smile because I can’t seem to turn it off. The song finally ends and Lance shuts off his phone. I stare down at my own phone to see that it’s already past 3 pm. 

We haven’t been able to converse much with the other residents but seeing as it’s bingo tomorrow, we’re in for a show. Romelle’s words. 

“So…” Lance grabs my attention away from my phone. He looks a smidge shy. I swear his cheeks look darker than the rest of his complexion. “I saw you rode in alone today. Do you maybe mind…” 

I hang my head at him. “You need a ride?” 

“Thought you’d never ask, mullet!” Lance grins. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Lance**

  
  


Keith’s car is… cosy. It’s a small, bright red Fiat 500. I’ve always wanted a Fiat 500, but I had to make do with Ronnie’s old car. Her blue Toyota Accord. To my dismay, both Rachel and I have to share it, because hey, hey, hey, we’re twins. And twins share everything, right? Sadly, yes.

I’m bobbing my head to Keith’s playlist. A pop-punk one that’s not bad at all. Up until now, I’ve been singing, practically screaming to all of the songs and Keith hasn’t looked quite pleased with me singing along with Patrick Stump or Brendon Urie. 

“I thought you had a car?” Keith asks, not being shy in his harsh tone as if having me pleasantly accompany him in his car is an insult. 

Can’t blame him though, I’m aware when I’m not liked. I may be popular at school but he can’t think I’m blind or oblivious. I have eyes too. “Yeah,” I say with a jittery chuckle, “But it’s my twin sister’s week to have the car.” I frown, looking straight ahead. “We share it.” 

“Hold up a tick.” Keith slams on the breaks when we come to an intersection. I fly forward without warning and am saved by the tug of my belt. Talk about being an aggressive driver. “There are two of you?!” 

“Don’t worry.” I assure him. “Rachel and I are nothing alike.” 

His stare tells me to elaborate. Fine, I’ll expound on that sentiment. Talking about my sister isn’t what I like to have stamped on my agenda, but seeing as Keith is as incredulous as I’ve ever felt, I’ll have to tell him some differences. “First of all, Rachel’s a girl.” 

Keith snorts. I smile at that. 

“She’s a huge couch potato,” I tell him as I picture Rachel right now laying feet up on the couch, head dangling upside down flicking through all the channels on our shared TV. “I think she’s flitted through the entire catalogue on Netflix, Hulu, HBO… and Disney+—” 

“But who hasn’t already gone through that,” Keith takes over the words about to jump off my own tongue. 

We share a short laugh when _Little Things_ by Good Charlotte bangs through Keith’s speakers and both him and I suddenly jump into our own concert. We’re both headbanging to the grungey tones, enjoying the song before I skip back into the differences of me and Rachel. 

“Rachel’s honestly a whole other species than me. She doesn’t game, loves to listen to classical music and loves to crochet. She’s a real hobby person, that’s how I think she speeds through every tv series known to man.” 

Keith is snickering, putting on the turn signal. I don’t know where we’re going, but it’s not the direction of my home. “Nothing wrong with having a hobby. I like to write.” Keith zips his mouth like he said something he shouldn’t have had, but I just grin at that. 

“What do you write?” 

I knew his car was red, but his face is highlighting shades way brighter. I don’t laugh, I keep quiet instead and hope he wants to share something about his life with me. An eye for an eye? 

He swings into the mall parking lot, backing into a free spot. The car backs in with no sweat, guess he had better driving skills than anticipated, ‘cause that was bearably smooth. I notice his hands are gripped on the wheel, not letting go. “I—” he starts, but clamps his lips shut again. “I need to buy a new keyboard before I take you home, since this is sort of on the way. Hope that’s okay.” He won’t look at me, but I’m not asking for him to. 

I nod nonetheless and open the door on my side of the car. Given that the car is smaller than I’m used to, I start doing cat-like stretches, grabbing my free wrist and twisting to one side as a loud noise erupts out of me like someone poured mentos into a coke bottle. 

Once I finish my stretches, I catch Keith staring at me with that often-made incredulous look. “Sorry I’m a bit taller than this car— and you're— so I’m not used to sitting cramped up like that.” I cringe. I may have offended his car. “I mean, like, since I’m—” 

Keith beeps his car to lock. “I get it, you’re a giant. Whatever. Come on.” 

Inside the mall we’re met with a jungle of people. It’s packed to the core. I don’t spot any of my friends. They usually hang out here by the fountain after school, but neither Hunk, Pidge nor Allura are anywhere to be seen. 

“Why do you look like you’re about to be assassinated. If you see your friends, you can ditch me. I don’t mind,” Keith says. 

I blink. “No, it’s not—” I cringe again. I am not gaining any brownie points with this dude. I was hoping we’d be on good terms these next two weeks knowing that Keith really hates me. Which I have no idea what is the cause of that, but I know a hater when I see one. “I’m just spotting for— looking out for—” 

“I get it, Lance.” Keith shakes his head, a little bit in disbelief. “We’re not friends, and we’re not supposed to be seen together. I’m the loner emo kid and you’re Mr. Popular. It’s _the way of life_.” Keith throws up air quotes at that last segment all while he makes a funny grimace to no one in particular. 

I feel a queasy sensation pool in my stomach at Keith’s words. It’s not that I don’t mind having people dislike me. But I would have liked a reason for it, to, perhaps, atone or fix it in some way. Although, apparently, Keith doesn’t seem like the chap to need any fixing with _our_ relationship. Whatever it may be. 

We walk into an electronics shop. Quickly, we both find our way unconsciously to the gaming area. I hold up a few games I want to buy with my next allowance and fawn at them. “You game?” Keith suddenly asks behind my ear. 

My cheeks heat at his closeness on their own, and I wish a fan would magically appear to chill them away. “I— Yeah. I love to game. It’s really what defines my and Rachel’s differences. She hates them, I can’t sort of live without them.” 

That rare smile forms on Keith’s lips. I feel my heart skip at the sight and move my eyes back to the game shells I’m holding. “Uh, well. Mamá’s not a huge fan of my gaming all the time. I can sit for hours and play online.” 

“Me too, my brother storms in at times in the middle of the night to scare the crap out of me and make me go to bed.” 

We both laugh at that. “You find a keyboard you like?” 

Keith holds up a Razer Chroma keyboard. My eyes widen. “Dude, I have the same one! It’s so cool with the color effects!” 

“I’ve been drooling for this one for a time. But my brother said I had to wait until my old one went lights out. And alas!” He holds the keyboard up again wearing a wide, bright smile this time and I need a minute to steady my quickening pulse. 

This can’t be happening. 

Is it just me, or that I’ve recently come to terms with my bisexuality. But I think I might be having a mild crush on Keith… 

Shit.


End file.
